


can’t look the other way

by peachyteabuck



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Cock Warming, Dom/sub Play, Exhibitionism, F/F, Sub Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21527872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: commission for some who wishes to remain anonymous, who asked for “cockwarming with sub!nat x dom!reader”
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 141





	can’t look the other way

It’s hard – you’d never tell anyone otherwise. Whenever people ask you about your job and your company and your love life (or, what all the journalists and stockholders and board members know about it), you sigh and roll your eyes and smile coyly into your drink and tell them something about being super groundbreaking and if they think being a woman in a corporate office is easy then they should try it sometime. Cute, nonthreatening; exactly as easy to digest and nonthreatening as your head of PR told you to be.

Still, it feels worth it – it all feels worth it -as you watch Natasha cry out under you. She’s needy, desperate, eyes screwed shut and tears spilling down her cheeks and leaving thick streaks of eyeliner and mascara in their wake. She only looks more beautiful as you pull the hitachi away once more, her whole body convulsing as she screams for mercy.

“Please please Mommy!” Natasha’s voice is unrecognizable, high pitched and desperate. “Please I’ll be so good I’m so sorry please forgive me please!”

You, however, are as cool-headed as ever; staring down at her with the mercy of a fox over a wounded bunny. “Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry I sent you videos of me getting off without permission” As she begs, you can hear the faint BING of your work phone. “And coming without permission and interrupting an important business meeting” The BINGBING rings out once more. “And ruining one of your favorite pair of my panties because I’m a bad girl and can’t follow directions and-

Natasha screams as you slap her cunt. “Shut up,” you hiss. She follows orders.

You check your phone with grit teeth, nearly breaking it in half when you see it’s your assistant who’s trying to get ahold of you.

“What in the ever-loving fuck do you want?” you nearly scream when you answer her call. You can hear her gulp in fear. Good.

“The analyst from the financial department is ready to speak with you about the projections for the next quarter.” She says it all in one breath, quick and nearly a whisper.

You sigh and roll your eyes. That man was supposed to have those done two days ago, and now he’s finished? On your night off?

You consider screaming that into the phone until the strap you were planning on slipping on but abandoned when Natasha tried to pull the “innocent” card once you had arrived home catches your eye.

“Kitten, I’m home!” you called, tossing your bag onto the couch and taking off your heels. Your coat joins your purse before you let your hair from its clip. You’re confused when you met with silence…she was so brash earlier in the day. “Baby, where are you?”

“In the kitchen, ma’am!” Her response is sweet, almost sickeningly so. When you follow her voice to the kitchen you can see the extent of her ploy forgiveness: the apron that barely covers her dusty pink sundress, her strawberry lip gloss that does little to mask her wicked ways, her cherry red nails. If this was any other day, you’d be happy to see her. Happy and giddy and relieved.

Right now, all you can do is narrow your eyes point your finger towards the floor. Natasha knows want you want – down on your knees. She follows orders.

“You’ve been a bad, bad girl…” you coo, tracing her jawline and bottom lip with her forefinger.

Natasha doesn’t disagree.

“Gimme five minutes,” you tell your assistant – eyes still focused on the large toy. You don’t wait for a response. “Tell him to give me five minutes. I’ll be there, in my office. Five minutes.”

The tone on the line when you hang up falls on deaf ears, the phone tossed aside.

You hike up your dress to your waist, unable to find it in you to unzip it yourself. Natasha’s preoccupied anyway, whining and wriggling on the bed under you. The strap on is pulled on and adjusted with ease, pink dildo with matching leather a contrast to your deep blue dress.

“Since you’re being such a needy slut,” Natasha whines high in her throat the second you utter her favorite pet name. “You’re going to sit on my cock, quiet and pretty and inert, while I take this very important call. Do you understand?”

Nat nods “Yes.”

“Yes what?”  
“Yes ma’am.”

You slap her cunt again, not flinching as she wails and kicks. “One more try, Natasha.”

“Yes, Ma’am, I will fill this pussy with your cock and be quiet while you are on your conference call.”

“Good girl, now join me in my office.”

Natasha follows right behind you as you cross the house, grabs a bottle of rosé as per your instruction along with two pristine glasses. Your office – not unlike the rest of house and the wine glasses she holds– had been cleaned by Natasha that morning, and your desk was organized with the precision and sophistication you expect from her. The corners of your lips turn into a smile when not a single spec of dust catches the low lighting near your desk.

“You did a good job in here,” you praise as you sit back in your dark leather chair. “Must say, even if you can’t behave like I want you to, you can clean.”

Natasha blushes as she places the alcohol in the minifridge and glasses on top of the adjacent side table. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Now come sit on my dick.”

She follows orders silently, pulling her panties to the side and sitting herself on the silicon cock slowly, her pretty pussy stretching to accommodating its thickness and occasional vein. When she’s fully seated, you’re tempted to cancel the business call – fuck her right there on your desk and watch her wetness stain paperwork; grab her by hair red as she is bratty and spank her as her words become more and more incoherent.

You’ve done it before, will likely do it again, but now is not the time for such noisy activities. Now you hiss in Natasha’s hear for her to be quiet or suffer consequences, lips curled back in a snarl then a smile as she obliges.

“Stay quiet or I won’t let you cum for a year,” you tell her.

Natasha understands you’re not joking, not fucking around like the last time you threatened not to let her cum for sixth months but the next day made her get off in front of you until she cried, and you finished a very expensive bottle of red wine. “Yes ma’am,” she says simply, with eyes wide and bottom lip nearly trembling.

“Good girl.”

You take a moment to savor the sight in front of you, of your pretty little thing with a big cock, your big cock, stuffed inside her tight cunt. She’s dripping, staining your tights and possibly the cushiest part of your office chair. She’s messy, always so messy – like a hurricane or one of those ghastly Jackson Pollock paintings your CFO likes so much. Such madness, such distraction, such desperation, such destruction, yet still so much beauty. Her perfect lips almost torn to shreds already from being pulled between her teeth, her mascara rubbing under eyes as she scrunches them shut, nails gripping the edge of your fancy, vintage desk. It’s hard to tear your eyes away from her as she gasps softly and covers her mouth with one of her soft hands, the other flying to the back of your neck so she can pull herself closer to you.

“Please,” she begs in a low whisper.

“No,” you’ll deny, equally quiet.

Somewhere between you leaving a hickey behind her ear and her thighs shaking like leaves in a wind storm (and you promptly telling her that she can shake all she wants, because you’re not going to stop playing her like this until she cries) you finally pick up the call.

The dude you’re talking to, the hotshot who went to an Ivy League and thinks that’s a personality trait, he’s an idiot. A buffoon. It becomes more and more obvious with every passing word that he was put there by a fool in HR. As he drones on, you move scribble onto your desk planner to figure out who signed off his employment and to fire them. What you don’t realize, or at least pretend not to, is that as you lean forward to grab your favorite pen the cock inside Natasha moves, too, making her groan out and brace herself against the desk.

“Uh, you good?” The manchild at the other end of the line asks. His voice is much more accusatory than you would like, but now is not the time to point that out.

You grab Natasha by her hair and nip at the shell of her ear, daring her to make any noise. “Yes, sorry, I stubbed my toe. You were saying?”

The kid continues to blather on about numbers and whatnot without hesitation. Maybe it’s because he believes your incredibly shitty lie, maybe it’s because he knows you can have him fired quicker than he can spend money from Daddy’s black card. Nevertheless, he sounds incompetent and you hate him. Either way, he’s speaking about things you totally should be paying attention to but absolutely are not. How could you, when you’ve got the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen seated on your strap and desperately fighting the urge to fuck herself onto it. Who cares about numbers and projections and trades and stocks and money when you can watch Natasha gnaw at her lip and cover her mouth with both of her soft hands. Occasionally, when you really feel like torturing her, you’ll ”readjust,” and laugh a little as she squeaks.

The call goes on for an ungodly amount of time, and you’re just about to hang up on him when you hear your blessed way out.

“You have any questions?” the kid asks.

You lie through grit teeth. “No, you did a good job.”

Just as you’re about to say a very professional goodbye, Natasha turns to you and flashes you with a smirk that distracts you. She’s planning something…

“Is that all?” you ask more to Natasha than the man on the phone, seconds from breaking the phone in half then bending Natasha over you knee and spanking her until her ass is painted like a midnight sky.

“N-no,” he says, and the both of you hang up at the same time.

The second you feel that annoying, high-pitched tone you nearly lose it, pushing Natasha onto the floor and hiking her dress up and off of her. Once she’s bare and maddeningly empty and begging for you to fill her up again with intermittent moans breaking apart her wanton pleas you look down upon her jus as before, with the same feral look in your eyes and the desperate one in hers.


End file.
